My teammates and I came across a family in the Driftwood neighborhood the day we toured our beat for the first time. We were looking for stories we could write about funky and eclectic Driftwood, a collection of mansions and cottages framed by towering shady oaks dripping with moss, every house a character unto itself. A sign in front of one house proudly declared the yard as "Florida native," which piqued Julie and Karen's interest. They decided to knock on the door, but Dugan and I stayed behind in the car, a little bored and tired after an afternoon of touring neighborhoods.

After about 20 minutes, I figured they'd either found someone to talk to or they were being held against their will. Dugan and I walked up the gravel driveway and found Julie and Karen talking to a middle-aged man and his two kids, fraternal twin boys, about the neighborhood. We spent another half-hour or so in the sweltering heat as he pointed out each of his neighbors and their accomplishments. With every detail, the boys would come up with another fact to mention. When their dad brought up the neighborhood's private beach, they scampered off, returning a few minutes later with their bikes at the ready. They pestered their father to let them show us the way to the beach. He relented, and we hopped back in the car to follow them down the street.

As we left, we all talked about how well-rounded they seemed to be. I don't remember what the boys said that made that impression. Probably no older than 10 or 12, they were remarkably well-spoken, curious and eager to show us everything their little corner of the world had to offer.

My thoughts wander back to those boys now, as I interview for newspaper design jobs and learn how to negotiate for benefits and schedules. I'd like my kids to be as well-rounded as those boys we met. But more than anything else, I want to be there for my kids. While that may seem simple, I don't have the faintest idea of how to balance my family life and my career. For most people my age, this is an academic exercise. Families will wait until careers are settled. But not for me.

When I look at job openings and consider applying, the first thing I do is search the Internet to see if there's a three-bedroom house at a price I can afford. One bedroom for my wife Natalie and me, one bedroom for our 3-year-old son Michael, and one for our daughter, who is due next month.

Before you cock your head and lecture me for doing this the wrong way, know that I realize I've gone about this thing called life in a backwards fashion. At 22, I have a wife, two kids (almost), but not a job. But the hospital won't take Michael back, even though we saved all the paperwork.

I'm well aware that college-track kids aren't supposed to become fathers at 18. But I made it through high school, into college and onto the dean's list. I graduated with honors and made it into this fellowship. Natalie is finishing her political science degree and works long hours at Costco folding clothes and greeting customers. And now I'm going to start my career, in a low-paying field with awful hours and a reputation for sparking divorces and breaking up families.

My father made me focus on considering my family before my career as soon as I knew I would be a father. He didn't have to say a word to do it.

I love my father very much and we have a wonderful relationship. We talk almost every day. But he is a different man now than he was when I was growing up.

Back then, he was a consultant with one of the Big Eight (now the Big Four) accounting firms, always working, always on the road. When I went with him to work on "Bring Your Child To Work Day," I would sit in his office and play computer games while he left voice-mail messages and sat in long meetings. In fact, had you asked me then what my dad did, all I could tell you was he listened to voice-mail messages and sat in meetings.

When I wasn't at his office, though, I was playing at home, usually by myself. When he was home, he was tired and cranky - rarely snappish or mean, but rarely energized or fun, either. My mother and I never wanted for anything, except for him to be home and be happy. And that we rarely received.

My mother suffered a stroke in 1995, and a few years later my father was promoted to the point where we could live wherever we wanted, so long as he could travel. We moved to Sanibel Island for my mother's recuperation. She was paralyzed on her left side. Dad would fly to his office in Atlanta on Mondays. Some weeks, we would see him again by Wednesday or Thursday; other weeks went by without anything but phone calls. I'm sure that, had it been as simple as doing a little less work for a little less money, he would have preferred to spend time at home. But it doesn't seem to work that way.

When he retired a few years ago, it was as if he was reborn. We rediscovered ourselves as a family. He became the lively, involved father I'd always wanted. But now I'm faced with a challenge. How do I appreciate my family - what society sees as the rewards of an established life - while still climbing the ladder of my career?

In college, I spent many late nights working at the school paper. Now I'm a thousand miles away from Natalie and Michael for six weeks, ostensibly because my time here will help me get a better job. Have I already tipped the balance too far away from my family? As a designer, I'll be lucky to see my kids after school. Will I ever be home for dinner? Will I make it to school plays and Little League games? I can't know what direction the future will go, but I'm afraid I won't be able to steer it.

I try to work in the fact that I have a family when I interview at papers. Part of me fears that employers will see it as a liability - that the new kid, fresh out of college, will ask for holidays off and other special dispensations when he hasn't earned them. But it could be an asset, as well. Once I land my first job, I don't want to uproot my family for a bigger or better paper as soon as the opportunity arises. They deserve some stability. I know that some workers without families mutter under their breath about the demands placed upon them by their co-workers with awkward schedules that orbit their family life instead of the newspaper.

But I know what my priorities will be, what they have to be. And I know that, more than anything else, I have to make sure my kids know that they are my first priority.

***

Monday, July 10, 2006
To be read Oct. 1, 2015

To my children,
I don't know where you will be or what you will be doing when you read this. I don't know what city we live in, what school you go to or who your friends are. Maybe you're into sports, or music or art.

I don't know where I'll be working. It probably doesn't matter to you whether I'm a page designer or an editor or design director, so long as I can still buy you toys and spend time to play with you.

So I want you to know that no matter where we are or what your mom and I do for a living, we both love you very much. You are what we care about more than anything else. And no matter what you do in your lives, we will be there for you, and we will be proud of you.

Love,
Dad

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